Boldly to Go
by Mistress V
Summary: This is a Star Trek Original Series/Hogan's Heroes crossover. It is rated T to be safe---some violence. Enjoy.
1. Chapter 1

Boldly to Go, 1/?

By Mistress V

_**This is a "Star Trek" (Original Series)/"Hogan's Heroes " crossover. I got the idea from some queries on the subject in the HH forums and obeyed my muse's command. I write for several Trek fandoms (though I have my own original universe and characters), and love a challenge! For this story, I will stick to Trek canon with a few minor exceptions. However, I am going to presume that Kirk and crew are aware of the past history told in "Enterprise". And I pay tribute to the fact that T'Pring and Tiger were played the same wonderful actress, Arlene Martel.**_

_**The idea of "Baddie X goes back into time in an attempt to change the future for their benefit!" is a popular theme in scripts. "Tomorrow is Yesterday" and "City on the Edge of Forever" gave Trek fans an early look at how fragile the space-time continuum can be and future eps expanded on that. (The premise has been around as long as "It's a Wonderful Life"--and likely before!) These ideas mushroomed into new takes on the theory as each Trek series began its run. Time travel eventually became something to be carefully monitored lest irreparable damage be done to history. Over time, many popular shows and films touched on this in one way or another. And almost all the Trek series dealt with Nazis or pseudo Nazis.**_

_**This tale takes place after "The Enterprise Incident" but before "And the Children Shall Lead" and alludes to the episode "Assignment Earth." We don't know much about Gary Seven or the aliens who trained him, but he will play a focal point here (and I LOVED Robert Lansing in "the Equalizer" as well!). Oh, for those unfamiliar with that episode, Isis is not a Mary Sue, she's a shapeshifting cat. Honest. For you HH fans, it's fall 1944, just a few months before America's Trinity and the German's B-8 experiments.**_

**_Legalese: HH and ST belong to their owners. I am only borrowing for the purposes of writing fan fiction. But what I write is my own creation. Copyright Mistress V 2008._**

"**I am become Death, the destroyer of all worlds." From the Bhagavad Gita, attributed to J. Robert Oppenheimer after witnessing the Alamogordo test explosion.**

…_Captain's log, stardate 5028.8. The Enterprise has been called away from a routine patrol en route to visit the Starnes Expedition on Marcos XII. Starfleet was contacted recently by the mysterious Gary Seven, a human-born representative of a race of aliens and trained by them to help keep mankind from self-destruction. We have been advised his clearance is of the highest level although even now, not much is known about his people. I am told that since we have worked with Mr. Seven in the past, our participation in a covert operation, as yet undisclosed, is vital to the preservation of the quadrant's history as we know it. My senior staff and I await contact with Mr. Seven in the briefing room but apart from that, we know nothing._

"I don't like this, Jim," Leonard McCoy grumbled as he fiddled with his coffee cup. "We're completely in the dark about this clown, nearly got you killed a few years back, and now the brass says he has free reign with our ship and crew? Who is he, anyway?"

"Not the entire crew, Doctor," came the smooth voice of Spock. "Only the four of us have been summoned to the meeting."

"You and your semantics." McCoy glared at the Vulcan, who merely raised one eyebrow a micro-millimeter.

"I have security standin' by in the transporter room," Scotty said, changing the subject. "But I've no idea when or how this joker is planning t' dock with us. I mean, what kind o'ship does he have?"

A disembodied voice bounced around the briefing room. "This is Gary Seven, Captain Kirk. Request permission for myself and my aide to come aboard."

"Permission granted." Kirk shrugged and addressed the air above his head. "What are your coord--"

Just a split second later, Mr. Seven appeared next to Kirk's chair. He was accompanied by a young woman with short dark hair and rather odd-looking eyes. "This is my assistant, Ms. Isis," Seven explained as the two sat down at the table. "Time is of the essence. May we begin?"

"By all means," Kirk replied, by now completely non- plussed. But before he could continue, the intercom whistled. "Kirk here?" he responded.

"Security, sir. Martin here. Intruder alert. Two unauthorized life forms have entered the ship. What's your status?"

"Thank you, Lieutenant, we're fine for the moment. Kirk out." He turned to his guests. "As you were saying, Mr. Seven?"

"I'll get to the point. That little escapade you pulled with the Romulans recently? Seems they're more than a bit angry about the incident. A rogue faction has decided to retaliate against the UFP and has targeted Earth."

"They plan to cross the Neutral Zone?" Kirk asked, his tone uneasy. "That means war. Unless they're working covertly, without the approval of the Empire?"

"That's the problem." Seven steepled his fingers in a perfect imitation of Spock. "The Zone as we know it doesn't exist. These Romulans are back in the 20th century. In 1944, to be precise."

"Time travel? Is this the work of the Cabal? It was promised by the operative Daniels that the timeline disrupted during the Xindi-Suliban incidents was righted for good." Spock scrolled through his tricorder, double-checking facts. "There have been no other incidents. Daniels kept his word. And his group cannot interfere."

"No, this is a Romulan attempt. Obviously, they've heard of your own methods, Captain. They used a similar premise to propel their operatives backwards."

"How did you find out? What are they up to?" Kirk's questions came rapid-fire now.

"Their transport malfunctioned just as they set up a far orbit around your moon. Our people were able to pick up the warp drive signature and tracked them to Earth. One we apprehended as he tried to get some materials for repairs, somewhere near New York City. Before he committed suicide, I got his data tracker away from him. But by the time the code was cracked, the two pairs of operatives got off the ship and are now en route to their destinations." Seven displayed a map. "Their scanner arrays are damaged so they can't make pinpoint transports. That's lucky for us. Our life-form vitals detector has indicated they are making their way to these two places. Are you familiar with them--and their significance in your planet's Second World War?"

"Aye." Scotty's voice was firm. "Tha's Los Alamos, New Mexico, and Oranienburg, Germany. Can only mean one thing. They're lookin' to change the way things turned out in the nuclear department, right?"

"Correct." Seven nodded. "From what we can see, the German operative pair will somehow try to cloak the complex where the B-8 Project is being worked on so it will be invisible to the attempted 1945 Allied bombardment. There is also evidence they plan to show the German scientists how to improve on their reactor design and thus make the possibility of the Nazis developing the bomb first a reality."

"Then we are to presume the second pair is going to sabotage the Manhattan Project?" Spock asked. "That could conceivably set the Americans back enough to allow Hitler to use the bomb and win the war. And from then…" His voice trailed off for a second, recalling a similar incident in the not-too-distant past.

"I'm certain you are no strangers to the fact that one small act can somehow alter history as your people know it. " It was clear Seven knew about what happened in 1930's New York. "But we can't use the portal, there isn't time, and we can't risk your entire ship for such a mission."

Scotty did some calculations. "He's right, sir. We cannae' get to the Guardian's planet in less than a few weeks. Earth's further away in the opposite direction."

"What do you propose instead?" Kirk asked, annoyed that this alien was running his show on his turf. "Click our heels three times and make a wish?" A fleeting vision of Edith Keeler stubbornly appeared before his eyes.

"There's no need to be facetious. I contacted Starfleet and Isis and I fully intend to get you to the necessary locations. We'll prepare you, but once we reach Earth, we must separate. Captain, you and I will go to New Mexico. I need to handle this segment of the mission because it's possible the calculations being used have already been tampered with. Only I can right them without being noticed."

"May I point out that I have attained an A7 computer classification? My knowledge of mathematics and physics is of the highest caliber. Should I not accompany you instead?" Spock now asked.

"I appreciate that offer and am aware of your background," Seven said in reply. "But your part of the mission is more difficult. The Romulans plan to give the German team information on making improvements to their project--and complex equations are involved. The only problem is, no one knows what they might be. Everyone is familiar with what happened at Los Alamos. Germany is much more a wild card. We need someone with your expertise to undo that, if necessary. I'm hoping it won't get to that point, though." Seven nodded at McCoy. "You, Doctor, will accompany Mr. Spock."

"Me? I'm a doctor, not a spy!" McCoy growled.

"Your medical experience is needed, Doctor. The operatives are posing as a married couple, a physician and his nurse wife. One of them is injured, that much we know. They are currently working in disguise at a hospital in the town of Hammelburg, likely so this injury can heal. From there, their next move is to the _Aueregsellschaft_. They must be stopped. You will be making contact with the local underground. Your cover is that you are working for an underground cell located near Tallinn. These people have information they stole from you--information vital to the Allies and to the Manhattan Project, but the Soviets do not know you have it. I'll brief you and Isis will provide the necessary documentation and disguises."

Isis showed two images on the viewscreen. "Your primary contact, codename Tiger, is this woman. She works with this man, codename Papa Bear, who runs an Allied sabotage unit out of a nearby prisoner of war camp. They can get you to where you need to be and provide you with safe cover." She then punched up two more images. "This was taken two days ago, when the Romulan pair arrived outside of Vienna. They go by Dr. and Frau Holst."

Kirk's eyes widened and he glanced sideways at his normally unflappable first officer. He was about to say something when Seven cut in. "I believe you two have had contact with the female, and quite recently," the man said coolly.

"We have, though I cannot explain this," Spock replied. "As soon as we learned of the commander's re-capture from the temporary holding station, it was thought she would be taken back to Romulus by her captors. But it was my understanding that those seen as traitors were summarily executed." The Vulcan had allowed himself a momentary eyebrow raise, nothing more.

"Ordinarily, they are. But this commander was highly regarded and apparently came up with the plan herself, then volunteered to lead the mission. She's the one with the necessary technology. Her partner is her cover." Seven glanced at his chronometer. "Time is wasting, gentlemen. We have a great deal of work to do in a short period, so let's get started."

End of Chapter 1.


	2. Chapter 2

Boldly to Go, Chapter 2

By Mistress V

_**Disclaimers as in Chapter 1.**_

"_**Assignment : Earth" was an unofficial pilot for a proposed spin-off that never got picked up. As a result, little is known about Gary Seven, Roberta Lincoln or Isis. That's a field day to a writer--unexplored territory. In other works, I've expanded on many characters and races just barely touched on in ST scripts--makes it all the more fun! (though not nearly as fun as creating your own world, which I've done, too). I am writing Isis as an allasomorph, or shape-shifter, generations before Wesley Crusher came to know the inhabitants of Daled IV. But her people's race and name still are unknown. For the sake of the assignment, I am giving her some unusual powers. But she is NOT meant to be a Mary Sue. As a cat, she gave Gary Seven very accurate information for his mission. Let's just say, she's a little bit unusual (and no, I am not going to explain those ears or speculate if she had a tail!). Meow!**_

_**For those familiar with my ST work--there's a little allusion to it here. But it's not a part of this story.**_

The next day and a half was a blur of activity for the operative team. Gary Seven and his assistant, the still-mysterious Isis, briefed them on their persona and drilled all the members on important aspects of the roles they would play.

"Why are we Estonian?" Spock asked casually during a break, though it was clear his mind was well ahead of the query.

"Estonians had no love lost for either the Germans or the Soviets," Seven offered. "You have information for the Allies, about the real reasons for the Battle of Berlin and plans for the construction of the nuclear city of Arzamas-16. It's all in a forged intercepted memo from Igor Kurchatov to Stalin about the capture of the German nuclear project. As for being Estonain, the Finno-Ugric language family is among the most difficult to master. The Nazis, despite the Finnish campaign, had problems with cracking the dialects of the region. You will speak the Kesk tongue. In a pinch, Russian is your second language, as you're listed as ethnic Russians born in Estonia. Spock, I presume you will be able to master the rudiments of the language?"

"I will, and I also speak French and some Russian," the Vulcan acknowledged. "But I am not certain about my physician colleague."

"I speak German," McCoy replied. "I met my wife during a rotation at Earth Station Berlin. We were stationed there a year. My German is passable for now, but with practice, I should be fine."

"That's another reason you were chosen," Seven said with an enigmatic smile. "You both will have intensive language schooling over the next day or so. After that, Mr. Spock, you will need to undergo the final aspects of your disguise. Isis will assist you, Doctor, in that regard."

"What kind of disguise?" Kirk interrupted, somewhat alarmed, though his first officer remained silent.

"Isis' people, my mentors, are capable of a performing a temporary genetic adjustment to master a disguise. In your case, Mr. Spock, your outward features only would be affected--your inner workings would remain as is. It means the genetic characteristics of your Terran mother's family would be tapped to give you an entirely humanoid appearance."

"That sounds dangerous. Can't we just disguise him? It's been done before," McCoy now interjected, concerned for the welfare of the unusual hybrid he called friend.

"I'm afraid that's a huge risk, one your people cannot afford to take," Seven responded. "We cannot afford any possible outward clue that you are from the future. Covering up here is not an option. But the final decision rests with Spock. What do you say, sir?" Seven finished.

Spock did not hesitate. "I agree to the procedure," he said without hesitation. "You are correct, we cannot risk failure."

vvvvvvvvv

Kirk took a break from his background study and stretched. He was surprised to hear the doors to McCoy's office whoosh open, and even more surprised to see Isis standing there. The young woman, who he remembered Roberta Lincoln accused of being a 'human cat' now stood before him, entirely humanoid in her appearance. Apart from a somewhat felinesque grace and rather unusual eyes, she seemed normal enough.

"The procedure was a success," Isis informed him. "Spock will need approximately twelve hours of sleep for it to set, but when he awakens, he will appear human to anyone who sees him. "

"That's amazing," Kirk began.

"The procedure can be reversed with no problems. And should something happen to me, others can step in." Isis was cool and calm, much as the cat she was described as being.

Kirk let it all sink in but said nothing.

"He will be fine, Captain," Isis answered to his unbidden question. "I cannot take part in the actual mission's intricacies, but I will assist in any way feasible, short of throwing a switch. Rather like your Prime Directive."

"How did you know what I was thinking? Are you a-?" Kirk said, accusingly.

"My people are empathtic. I can read your thoughts, but can only have a true dialogue with one they have trained, such as Mr. Seven. And in case you are curious, yes, I am what you call a shape-shifter. Our form is so indescribable that we prefer to take on the characteristics of the race we assist. As for the feline aspect, I have found being a cat gets me into places a human could not, and allows me just as enigmatic an escape if needed."

Kirk was dumbfounded. In the course of the conversation, he watched the young woman transform herself into a being of pure crystalline light, then a black cat, and then back to a human female, though not the one described by Ms. Lincoln in their last encounter. This Isis was professional and all business, despite a stunning beauty to her.

"And no, I don't prefer tuna," she finished with a smile as she left the room.

vvvvvvvvvvv

Christine Chapel let herself into the recovery room . She knew that Dr. M'Benga had assisted her superior with bringing Spock to consciousness, but his vitals still needed to be monitored. It had been one of the most clandestine surgical procedures since Kirk's pseudo-Romulan disguise awhile back, and she was more than curious about the outcome.

Spock was asleep, his breathing regular. His ears were covered with a bandage and his eyes shut, but she could see the change to his hair. It had lightened to a dark blondish brown, dishwater as they used to call it back home. His skin was still greenish in pallor, though much lighter than usual. Almost without thinking, she took his hand, ostensibly checking for a pulse despite the fact his vitals were on full display above the diagnostic bed. She allowed her free hand to smooth back the sweat-damp bangs from his forehead. Tears began to well in her eyes as she recalled other scenarios in this very room. The mission was nearly over. How many other times like this would she be able to steal, to treasure in years to come?

This would not do, she told herself sternly. A few notations to the chart and she was off, making her way out of the room and into reception. Unfortunately, she nearly collided with Isis, who was on her way in.

"The patient is fine," she informed the young woman professionally.

"Excellent. I will just give him a check as well." Isis reached out a hand and caught Chapel's shoulder. "Your day will come, you know," she said softly.

The nurse stiffened and felt a flush spreading across her cheeks. "I don't know what you are talking about," she replied.

Isis actually smiled at her. "You may not want to acknowledge feelings you think are unrequited at this time, Christine. But trust me. It is not too late. It is….too soon. Just wait."

Christine Chapel stood there, speechless, as the woman disappeared into the recovery room.

End of Chapter 2.


	3. Chapter 3

Boldly to go, Chapter 3

By Mistress V

_**Disclaimers as in Chapter 1.**_

_**Thanks to jayvee for ideas!**_

Spock gazed at his image in the sickbay mirror. His eyebrows lifted in surprise, but for the first time in all his years, they were human in their shape. The expression looked the same as he'd seen his shipmates do hundreds of times. It was the eyes staring back at him that were so fascinating. They were the blue shade of his mother's family. Paired with the hair that now was just a few tones darker than Kirk's, the package was indeed wrapped up differently.

"Pretty amazing, eh, Spock?" Kirk said as he joined him. "I can see where you get your mother's good looks now."

Spock allowed his longtime friend this feeble attempt at humor. "I suppose you are here to divest me of my coiffure," he said lightly.

"Yep, it's just too unusual for the time." Kirk produced a laser hair trimmer and indicated a nearby chair. "Have a seat. I spent a summer helping out at the barber shop back home and can get you looking shipshape in no time."

"I have selected this style." Spock indicated an image on his tricorder. "I feel it will suit the purpose."

"Looks fine." Kirk threw a cover around the first officer and turned on the clippers. "We don't want it too short, you'd look like a prison escapee. Too long and you might be accused of being a member of the _Swingjugend._" Kirk paused. "Maybe not that, but at the very least a jazz musician."

"Very well." Spock gave a quiet sigh of long-suffering annoyance. "We cannot risk a failure. Though I am curious how the Romulan pair have adapted."

"Bones says it looks like their ears were docked by surgery of some kind. Their skintone's a mystery, though. Might be drug-induced, or some kind of makeup." Kirk pointed at the mirror. "There you are, Spock. What do you think? You could be the Arrow Shirt man!"

"It is…acceptable," Spock remarked thoughtfully, inwardly shocked at how All-Terran he now looked. But he allowed nothing even remotely recognizable as surprise to register on his face. "Shall we join the others?"

"Sure. Be right there." Kirk shrugged and started cleaning up, wondering what Sarek would say if he saw his son right now. Scratch that, he corrected himself. How about Amanda?

vvvvvv

"Before we leave for Earth, let's go through our data once more," Seven ordered the group. "Captain, you are?"

"Jake Kramer, from Farmin'ton," Kirk replied with a soft twang he hadn't used since his days in Iowa. "Right, Zack?"

"Right, Jake. And what are we doin' out these parts?" Seven mimicked the accent a little more convincingly.

"Propsectin'. For silver an' that yoo-raynyum." Remarkably, Kirk managed a straight face as he spoke.

"It'll do for now, better let me do the talking. We'll get suited up once we're back at my base." Seven turned to Spock and McCoy. "Codenames?" he asked.

"Sturgeon," Spock replied.

"Reindeer," McCoy added.

The pair went through recognition phrases with Seven in Russian and German as well as English. Satisfied, the man indicated the group to gather closer.

"We need to leave for base. It's going to be a quick journey but you might feel disoriented once we're there. Isis provided this to take." Seven handed out tablets which dissolved on everyone's tongue. "It's the only way to get us there quickly. The way back won't be as difficult."

Kirk turned to Scotty. "You have her," he told the engineer. "Be careful, will you?"

"Aye, sir. We'll be waitin' at the rendezvous point." Scotty gave his captain a smile.

"Try not to over-tax the engines, eh?" Kirk replied.

The presence of a black cat silenced everyone. The feline rubbed around Seven's legs with a purr, then leaped into his arms.

"Let's be off," Seven said.

He twisted the small silver pen-like object he was never without. A second later, the group disappeared into a cloud of colorful swirling smoke.

vvvvvvvvv

Isis, in her cat form, led the arrivals out of the transport chamber. The feline strutted into the main office and paused with a meow at the desk where a female sat, then streaked off somewhere.

"Oh, hi," Roberta Lincoln said as she filed her nails. Her eyes were made up in a curious mix of blue and silver. She resembled a light bulb switching on and off each time she blinked. "You brought friends, how nice!"

"Any messages?" Seven asked his oft-scatterbrained secretary.

She handed him some slips of paper, all the while taking in the visitors. "Why, Mr. Kirk! What are you doing here?"

"Helping Isis and me." Seven moved over to the computer module, Spock following.

"Hey, you." Roberta pointed at Spock with a pale frosted fingertip, which matched the froth of curls that were lacquered into place on her head. "Haven't we met?"

The Vulcan shook his head, his own hair falling carefully back into side-parted place. "I do not believe we have," he replied, testing the waters.

"I could swear we did. You got a brother, maybe?" Roberta's face twisted itself into a puzzled frown.

"No…brother." Spock turned to Seven and they busied themselves reading data.

vvvvvvvvvvv

"Just another moment," Isis instructed Spock. She continued gritting his nails with what looked like ink. "This will help corroborate your trade of printer. Not only will that explain your unusual pallor, but also how you came to possess the document that was stolen. You were delivering an order to local headquarters when an informant slipped you the details."

"That is logical," the Vulcan replied. Like McCoy, he was attired in worn workmen's clothing, quite the opposite of Kirk and Seven. The pair looked as though they'd wandered off a Western film set, battered cowboy boots and all.

"Equipment check," Seven announced.

Spock drew out a slide rule, a small penlight and an ancient fountain pen. He, McCoy and Seven went over how to contact base in an emergency.

"Isis will be monitoring everything," Seven went on, giving everyone a final once-over. "She can't actually perform the mission, as you know, though she can assist in any other way possible. I'm hoping you don't need her services but there are a whole lot of unknowns in the mix. And one last thing for you, just in case it's needed." Seven handed Spock a small used black leather notebook, which resembled the proverbial "little black book" in use at the time by males from all over.

The Vulcan opened it and raised a now-human eyebrow. "Fascinating," he said. "How does it work?"

"Fingertip sensitivity," Seven replied. "It's based on an old Terran model from the early 21st century. All the data you need in the palm of your hand. If the correct support system was in place, you'd also be able to speak with us. Unfortunately, that won't come about for some time. And the small button at the back will cause auto-destruct if it comes to that. You can't let these objects fall into the wrong hands."

"What if that happens?" McCoy asked, obviously still nervous about what he'd left behind on Sigma Iotia II.

"If called upon, I can obliterate a person's memory of occurrences," Isis told him. "This is usually not permitted, but in an emergency, it is a necessary action."

"It's time." Seven moved to the control panel and punched in a code and nodded at Spock and McCoy. Smoke began to appear in the transport chamber. "Good luck to you both," he said as the pair walked into the past.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

"This is the place," McCoy grunted with a nod. The sign on the shop read "Blumengeschaft."

The streets of Hammelburg were quiet in the late afternoon, though an unusually large number of uniformed Gestapo personnel were present everywhere. So far, the pair had not been stopped since they walked into the town. They'd set down just on its outskirts but still hidden, thanks to Seven's pinpoint calculations.

They entered the florist's establishment, brass bells announcing their arrival. There were, thankfully, no other customers about. An older man was at the counter, doing figures on a notepad.

"Guten Abend," Spock began.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. May I assist you?" he asked pleasantly.

"Have you any bronze chrysanthemums?" The first part of the recognition code came easily off the Vulcan's tongue.

"Unfortunately, we do not. How about some nice violet ones?" The man gave the correct counter phrase. His eyes regarded them curiously but his expression remained neutral.

"My Aunt Greta prefers bronze. As it is her birthday, I do not wish to disappoint her," Spock continued.

"I see." The clerk paused to write down notes on a slip of paper. "There is a florist on the other side of town who will be able to help you. Here is the address. I am sorry we could not be of service to you gentlemen."

"Thank you, sir," McCoy said. "Good afternoon to you."

Once they were safely outside, Spock bought a newspaper at the local stand. He and McCoy pretended to scan its content but instead focused on the note that had been given them.

It read, simply, "The cemetery. 18:00 hours. Tonight." A small map was drawn, indicating where the meeting was to take place.

"What now?" McCoy asked. It was only 16:00.

"Something to drink," Spock replied in his prefect German. "Let us go to the Hofbrauhaus, my friend."

The two headed across the cobbled street to pass the time until the next phase of their mission.

End of Chapter 3.

_**The flower shop was used as an underground contact station in "Le Beau and the Little Old Lady", true, but the woman in that episode, Celeste Yarnall, also appeared in Star Trek's "The Apple". She played Yeoman Martha Landon--Chekov's romantic interest. **_


	4. Chapter 4

Boldly to Go, Chapter 4

By Mistress V

_**Disclaimers as in Chapter 1. Warning--ONE swear word contained. :)**_

Twilight was just fading into a cool autumn dusk as Spock and McCoy trudged through the cemetery. It was devoid of human presence--living, that was. A lone horned owl gave a mournful "WhOOOooOooOO!" from its perch in a high pine tree.

Spock's senses remained as sharp as always despite the obvious change to his outward features. His night vision kicked in as they approached a gated tomb structure. The family name read, "Zimmerman".

"This is it?" McCoy whispered, gazing around at the deserted graveyard.

"Now we wait," Spock replied with a slight nod. He checked his Lemania pocket watch. 17:59. His hearing picked up a crunching sound that might be footsteps--or a prowling nocturnal creature. He slipped a hand into the breast pocket of his jacket and closed his fingers around the weapon he carried, just in case.

A slight figure rounded a corner of the sepulcher and stood before the men. Spock could discern she was female, but that was all.

"It is cold this evening," she stated.

"But not as cold as Russia," Spock replied evenly.

"That was Napoleon's lesson," came the next recognition phrase.

"The Nazis could learn from his mistakes."

The woman's stiff demeanor relaxed a tad. "You are?" she continued.

"Sturgeon."

"Reindeer."

A small laugh escaped her. "The codenames are unusual at times, especially for your part of the world. We seldom have northern visitors here. I am Tiger, gentlemen." She waved a hand. "Follow me, and hurry. There are patrols everywhere at the moment. Fortunately for us, some soldiers feel this is a haunted place and give it a wide berth."

She led them past more tombs to a small caretaker's shed. Once inside, the three negotiated their way through a trapdoor, down some rotting stairs and into a cellar-like room. Tiger lit an oil lamp and bid her contacts to sit at a rickety old table. It was clear this was a meeting place for the resistance movement. An ancient wireless stood in one corner. Survival supplies were arranged on shelves thrusting out of the earthen wall. And there was another door--a rather odd thing, Spock thought, given there was nowhere to go but further back beneath the ground.

"How may I help you?" Tiger now asked. She removed he scarf and shook her head, revealing blonde curls. Spock detected a Gallic lilt to her accents and suspected she might be from the Alsace border region.

"We need the assistance of your people in locating this couple," McCoy replied, handing the woman a faded black and white image of the masquerading Romulan pair. "They were last seen at the hospital here in town, where they may be working."

"Why are you looking for them?" The woman's brown eyes glanced from Spock to McCoy, then back to Spock again.

He continued. "They have information that they stole from us they wish to pass to the Nazis. Information the Soviets do not know is missing--yet, and which may cause the tide of the war to turn if we do not recover it."

"And where did this information…get lost?" It was clear Tiger was still neutral regarding the request for help, checking the facts in her head.

"In Tallinn. Dr. and Frau Schmidt, that is their cover, fled across the Baltic on a supply boat headed to Kiel. We had no choice but to follow them there. Fortunately for us, the city is still recovering from the recent bombing and we were able to slip in undetected." Spock now produced his identification papers for inspection, curious as to how the fabricated story would hold up.

McCoy did the same. "It was most UN-fortunate for our plans that we had to come to Germany. It meant backtracking, our original route was to escape to Finland and eventually rendezvous with the Allies through a network operating there."

"I see." Tiger handed back their papers, obviously satisfied they were genuine. "Precisely what information did you lose?"

"It concerns possible Soviet interest in what the Americans are working on in the desert." Spock was intentionally vague. "There is a possibility this information would cause things to shift on the eastern front, with disastrous consequences. Plans may already be in place regarding the capture of Berlin by the Soviets."

"We may be able to work with you." Tiger got up and switched on the wireless. "But because the information you possess concerns Allied interests, I must first clear it with my contact. He can provide more support for you operation as well. I will try to arrange a meeting for later his evening." She picked up the microphone and spoke. "She-Cat calling Goldilocks, come in Goldilocks, do you read me, over."

A faint American voice answered. "Roger, She-Cat, read you loud and clear. What can we do for you, over?"

"Some polar bears have wandered through the forest and need assistance. Is Papa Bear available, over?"

After a moment of silence, another American voice came on. "Roger that, She-Cat, this is Papa Bear. Bring the cubs in with the hounds at the end of the hunt to Club 21, over."

"Roger, Papa Bear, will do, over and out."

Tiger put down the mike and picked up the lantern. She walked over to the door built into the dirt wall and gave it a shove. It sprang open, revealing a small storeroom. "Come with me," she instructed.

vvvvvvvv

McCoy shifted his position in the van, trying to get comfortable, but the vehicle was in desperate need of new shock absorbers as it jounced down a potholed dirt road. He glanced over at his companions. Tiger was staring out the smudged rear window, as though she was watching the night unfold. Spock's eyes were closed in light meditation McCoy knew, but that didn't stop three large Alsatians, bound for a nearby prisoner of war camp, from lounging on the Vulcan's lap. It had been an unnerving journey through some well-dug passageways, worthy of a horta's precision, to get to this point. Eventually, they'd come up at the breeder's farm and joined his evening delivery of a consignment of guard dogs.

A flicker of concern passed across McCoy's face. Although Spock had stoically taken the 180 degree change to his features as part of the mission they were on, the physician sensed that the metamorphosis was troubling to the first officer. Nothing anyone could see unless you knew the Vulcan well, and McCoy now counted himself as one who did. Spock was out of his natural environment as never before. In the past, on Planet 892-IV or in the heart of the Ekosian's attempt at a Third Reich, or even in Earth's past, Spock had merely hidden what could not be explained. This mission allowed no such luxury. McCoy could not tell if Spock's unfamiliar human appearance was what troubled him or if it was something more...dare he even think it...emotional.

Looking human meant behaving as an ordinary 1940's human would as well as reacting humanly to any contact. That's where Spock was having some problems. At the Hofbrauhaus, he'd sipped at a lager but remained quietly emotionless, prompting a pair of German corporals to ask what made him so sullen. McCoy was able to laugh their way out of it by claiming his friend's sweetheart had left him for a fighter pilot and he was not talking at the moment. Thankfully, the soldiers sympathized, obviously having no love for the flyboys that apparently flirted with everyone's women these days--or worse. But McCoy knew there would be thoughtful times ahead for Spock when this mission was over--and they hadn't even caught up with the woman everyone knew (unofficially, of course) that he'd allegedly seduced in the line of duty. He sighed. If only Vulcans believed in psychiatrists, or even talking heart to heart with the family doctor.

The van came to a sudden, jarring stop. The doors were opened, allowing the hitchhikers to get out. As the dog transport continued towards its destination, the trio made their way through a wooded area to a clearing. Spock could hear others in the area--German voices, though far-off for now. It was not a safe place.

Tiger gave a low whistle which was answered a moment later. A dark-clad male, his face covered with soot, stepped out from behind a tree. He held out half of an ace of spades playing card, cut on the diagonal.

"The Soviets invented vodka," he said flatly.

"No, you are wrong. The Russians did so." Spock now produced his half of the card, which matched Hogan's. "I am Sturgeon," he finished.

"And I am Reindeer," McCoy said as he joined them.

"I'm Papa Bear. You picked a heck of a night for contact. The woods are crawling with patrols, checking to see if any saboteurs are out. The Nazis are moving some hot stuff though here in two days' time." Hogan now nodded at two shadows that flanked him. "Get out there and be ready for a diversion at the first sign of our discovery. If anything happens, double back and come in through the auxiliary tunnel."

"Oui, Colonel," one man replied in French.

"Right, sir," the second added. "C'mon, mate, let's get the sound effects ready."

Hogan wasted no time. "What's this about information regarding the Manhattan Project?" he asked, point blank.

Spock did not hesitate. "There is talk that one of the scientists working on it is in contact with Kurchatov," he replied. "And that Stalin now has plans to take Berlin quickily so the facility at Oraienburg can be turned into a Soviet interest. "

"I've heard rumors," Hogan growled, whether with suspicion or disgust it was hard to say. "What proof do you have?"

"A memo from Kurchatov to Stalin's senior staff. It outlines a plan for intensified Soviet progression of the development of nuclear weapons. And an outline for a proposed secret base to be built in the town of Sarov, using prisoner of war labor."

Hogan allowed himself a low whistle. "That's pretty vital intelligence. And you say this couple has it?"

McCoy now spoke. "I was a hospital orderly back in Tallinn. I can get to these people if your group can just provide us the cover to do so. They are working at the hospital here. It should not be difficult for me to track them down."

Gunfire crackled across the night just then. Hogan swore quietly. "Patrol!" he hissed. "And they're after something--probably us. Come on, through here."

Excited German voices were now drawing closer, firing into the darkness. As the group began its escape, a volley of shots came a little too close. Spock stiffened, a soft grunt escaping him.

"Lean on me." Hogan, who seemed used to such happenings, threw his arm around the wounded Vulcan and began leading the contingent towards safety.

More gunshots erupted, from far behind the group. The patrol turned away towards the direction of the new noise.

"Good old Newkirk, Always can count on him for a diversion." Hogan handed Spock over to McCoy and opened an innocuous looking tree stump, then turned on a flashlight and shined it into the void. "Down here. You'll be safe, and we have a medic that can take care of your friend. Come on, get m-m-m--"

"What is it?" Tiger whispered fearfully as Hogan's voice stuttered to a stop.

Hogan was staring at his hand. It was covered with blood, far more blood than was normal for a simple flesh wound. His face was a mask of disbelief as he regarded its bright greenish hue. "What the HELL?" he began, reaching for his gun.

"I wouldn't," McCoy said carefully, aiming a Tokaev TT-33 at Hogan. "And despite his injury, my friend has your operative in a very precarious hold. One false move and her neck might get snapped."

Hogan quickly ascertained the truth to the statement. "What do you want?" he demanded angrily. "We have to get out of here."

"Call your group and tell them you need to meet with us privately. Top secret, whatever you need to say so we're left alone. Then take us somewhere where I can get to work. I'm a physician and, believe it or not, we're on your side. Once I've stabilized my friend here, we can talk."

Hogan hesitated, weighing his options.

"Do it, Colonel Hogan. Now." McCoy raised the gun higher. "I don't want to use this but I will if I have cause."

Hogan resignedly picked up the walkie-talkie hidden in the tree-stump. "Papa Bear to base, Papa Bear to base," he said. "Come in, base. Over."

"Base here, Papa Bear. Read you loud and clear. Go ahead, over."

End of Chapter 4.


	5. Chapter 5

Boldly to Go, Chapter 5

By Mistress V

_**Disclaimers as in Chapter 1.**_

"I gotta tell ya, Zack," Kirk said morosely. "My ma always said if'n I hung around with you I'd end up in jail." He clanged the bars of their cell for effect, eliciting a loud "Shaddup in there!" from the guard.

Gary Seven looked over at his cellmate and smiled. "I keep tellin' ya, Jake, 'taint a jail. This here's a brig." He went back to his pork and beans.

"Brig, jail, looks the same," Kirk replied. He, too, started picking at his supper. "Of all places," he muttered to himself.

Seven sat down at the makeshift table, the cell's only other furniture apart from the set of double bunks. "I told you," he said quietly, "this is the best way to get inside the base. I can handle the rest."

"We're being guarded, in case that's slipped your mind. What are you going to do, walk through the wall?" Kirk was beginning to doubt the mission's success.

"It will take them at least a few days to determine we're just prospectors." Seven gave an enigmatic smile. "Remember, this is 1944 Terra. No personal computers, no cell phones, no internet, no photocopies. Certainly nothing resembling the technology you possess now. It all has to be done through official channels and our credentials are prefect when it comes down to checking. That gives me at least two nights to sweep the lab. I only hope the team doesn't sleep with calculations under their pillows."

"That sounds like something my first officer would do," Kirk replied, relaxing a bit. "In case he was inspired mid-slumber. But back to business. How are you going to get out of here?"

"Isis is finishing up something that will help," Seven told him. "The guard changes soon, I'll try then if Isis comes through. And after our background checks out and we're released, we can go after the team."

"What about the ship?"

"That's being monitored. Isis is busy. From what we can figure out, the teams have a set timeframe in which to complete the mission. Then the ship leaves orbit on its own and self-destructs over on the far side of Jupiter. The Romulans always did have a talent for remotely-controlled equipment."

"How long do we have?" Kirk asked.

"A week, if that. They're intending to move quickly." Seven took a swig of cold coffee, grimacing as he did so.

"I hope we can, too."

vvvvvvvvv

McCoy nudged Hogan with his pistol as they started down the tunnel. "Now remember, no funny stuff. Get us into a safe space and I promise, you'll get the answers you want."

Hogan gave a glance back at Tiger. The woman nodded, indicating he should go on. Spock held her in a tight grip, Hogan's confiscated weapon at the small of her back. Cautiously he began to lead the group down an earthen corridor towards a small speck of light. The light grew brighter as they progressed and eventually, the tunnel opened into a largish meeting space of some kind. A black man was seated at an impressive looking communications array, which included a radio set and what appeared to be a telephone switchboard.

"Colonel Hogan, good to see you. Everything all right? I heard the Krauts are out in force."

"Everything's fine, Kinch," Hogan responded calmly. "But I have some hot borscht to cool down right now. For the moment, condition purple."

Kinch raised an eyebrow as he regarded the visitors. "Purple, sir? What about a debriefing when LeBeau and Newkirk get in? They're on their way."

"It'll have to wait. The info our guests have can't. If we need you, we'll let you know but for now, no disturbances unless it's a surprise bed check..or an air raid. Understood?"

"Understood." Kinch shrugged, by now used to his commanding officer's moods. The parade of visitors in and out of the tunnels was nothing new and besides, Hogan had given the correct phrase for a private meeting. He picked up his book and continued to read, grateful it was a quiet night so far.

Newkirk and LeBeau came through the tunnel a few minutes later.

"We debriefing?" Newkirk asked Kinch. "That _**Forever Amber**_, mate?"

"Now how would I get a copy already?" Kinch grinned, holding up a well-worn copy of _**Emil und die Detektive.**_ "Just keeping current on my German. And no debriefing, it's code purple. Private meeting. Russians."

"Russians?" LeBeau perked up. "Maybe my beloved pirozhka Marya is on her way! I'd better clean up, then." Like Hogan, both men's faces were blackened with soot.

"I don't think so," Kinch replied drily, going back to his novel. "This was a pair of guys, from somewhere up north in the Baltics according to what I heard. Whatever info they've got is hush-hush. My guess is it's to do with Manhattan."

"Really, mate? The Russians know about that?" Newkirk asked. "Everyone's been 'ittin that heavy water lately. Maybe we should, too."

"I'd rather have vodka," Kinch laughed. "Let's hope they brought some…and the colonel's wiling to share."

vvvvvvvv

Once they were safely inside a small room, McCoy pointed at Hogan. "Sit down, Colonel. I have work to do."

"Like hell I will!" Hogan sprang up, reaching for McCoy's pistol. A look of surprise flitted across his face just before he crumpled to the ground.

"You ANIMAL!" Tiger spat out as she knelt by Hogan's side. "You killed him!"

"Hardly," Spock said coolly. "He is unconscious for now." The Vulcan looked down at the drops of greenish blood that led into their hiding place. "Have you alerted Isis?" he asked McCoy.

The physician nodded. "I did and I hope she can get here. For now, though, I need a look at you. That bullet may have nicked your main artery." He glanced down at Tiger. "You, miss. I'll need your help."

Having ascertained Hogan was indeed still alive, Tiger now looked apprehensively at her captors. They had all the guns, including hers. "Isis? Is that another agent? And his blood--it--is--VERT! I do not understand."

"Come over here," McCoy instructed as Spock moved Hogan's supine form awkwardly to a chair. "I promise you, Hogan will be okay. We just need to restrain him until I can get Spock's shoulder patched up. Then we'll answer your questions. You have my word."

"Restrain? 'ow?" Tiger's eyes grew wide as she watched the Vulcan take out what looked to be an ordinary penlight. Her amazement continued to grow as she saw him draw a line of light around Hogan. Then he pressed a button and a shimmering barrier encircled the man. Tiger gasped. "What 'ave you done?"

"Let's just say he won't be able to do anything when he comes to. And I'll say again, he's safe. I only wish we didn't have to get you both involved in this mess, but it's too late now. " McCoy pulled out his medical kit from his knapsack. "Let's get Spock into that other chair. Spock, you're not helping. SIT DOWN!"

"I can assure you, I am quite fine." Spock's pale features belied the fact and underneath his façade, it was clear he was not fine. "But for your sake I shall succumb to your primitive ministrations." He acquiesced to a hypospray of local anesthetic.

McCoy grumbled, then instructed Tiger to pull Spock's clothing away from his shoulder. This revealed a small bullet hole which was spurting bright green blood.

"Looks serious," McCoy pronounced. "I had a feeling that artery got nicked. I'll try to clamp off the bleeding for now but eventually that bullet has to come out. If it shifts any further down, it could kill you."

"I have no plans to die," Spock responded stubbornly.

"No, but you don't want to be leaving your peculiar calling card all over Nazi Germany, do you? One look at that blood and you'll end up in Mengele's lab."

Tiger drew a sharp breath. "Dr. Mengele? What do you know of 'im?"

"More than we want to." A shudder passed through McCoy's body. "Mengele, Zora, it never ends. But there'll be time for answers later. Right now, I need to finish this before my friend here bleeds to death. I only hope Isis can get rid of all this evidence."

"Who is this Isis?" Tiger asked again.

"She's working with us," McCoy said offhandedly, then busied himself with his task.

End of Chapter 5.


	6. Chapter 6

Boldly To Go, Chapter 6

By Mistress V

_**Disclaimers as in Chapter 1.**_

Hogan shook his head, forcing his eyes open. Apart from some pain in his neck, everything seemed to be all right. He struggled for a moment, piecing back the thoughts of the past few hours. He'd met Tiger just after 21:00, her and the two Soviet agents. Agents. Something wasn't right. His eyes focused on his hand, which was caked with dark green residue. Green…blood…

He jerked his head up, gazing wildly around the room. By some lantern light, he could see Tiger, kneeling next to a chair where a man was being seen to by what looked to be a doctor. His legs were still rubbery but Hogan somehow managed to stagger to his feet.

Only to run smack into a brick wall. Trouble was, no such wall was there. Confused, he moved forward once more, putting an effort into the attempt with his shoulder. Again and again he tried, only to be thrown back towards his seat. He gingerly reached out his fingertips and made contact with the strange boundary. It felt just like a wall yet he could see as clearly as though gazing through a window. There was a faint humming sound accompanying the sensation.

"Hey!" he said.

No response.

"HEY!" Hogan now yelled, banging his fist against the boundary. "What's going on?"

The pair glanced back at him but continued working. Tiger held up a finger, indicating he should wait. He sat back down, his head spinning. He was further confused when he saw the male agent run what looked like a brightly colored light beam over his injured companion's shoulder. The hue resembled what he'd seen on a radar screen, almost ghostly. Hogan squinted. The wounded man's skin was glistening with dark green liquid, yet he looked entirely human. For one wild moment, Hogan wondered if this was some far-fetched eugenics experiment gone haywire.

Whatever was being done drew to a close. Hogan watched as the patient closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, drifting into sleep. Tiger still knelt there, cleaning away the blood and adjusting bandages, while the other agent now walked towards him. He took out a penlight and pointed it at Hogan, then clicked the object. The humming sensation ceased abruptly and a moment later, Hogan tentatively put out his hand and felt only air.

"No funny stuff, now," the agent said, pulling his gun again.

"Tiger, are you OK?" Hogan called out.

"I am fine, Colonel. Please, do as the doctor says." She got up and draped a blanket around the sleeping man, then walked over to where Hogan was. "It is all right," she continued. "Really."

McCoy dragged two boxes next to Hogan and sat down with Tiger. The three of them regarded each other for a wary moment.

"OK, medicine man, start talking. Who the hell are you? Or should I ask WHAT the hell are you?" Hogan's eyes glowed like red-hot coals, his tone venomous.

McCoy took a deep breath. "You're probably going to find this hard to believe, but my colleague and I--we're from Earth's future."

"Let me guess. You're Tom Swift, and that's Buck Rogers. Nice try, but I'm not buying it," Hogan replied sullenly.

"Colonel 'ogan, please, listen," Tiger now entreated.

"I guess I haven't got a choice. Go on." Hogan looked resigned to some terrible, imagined fate.

"Actually, I'm Dr. Leonard McCoy, chief medical officer aboard the starship _**Enterprise.**_ That man over there is Commander Spock, our first officer."

Hogan began babbling. "The _**Enterprise**_? You guys are navy? That makes sense. Does London need some pilots sent through here?" He paused, comprehension dawning. "Did you say STAR ship?" he eventually asked in a small voice.

"Like I said, it's hard to believe." McCoy punched up some images on the palm-sized database Seven had given them. "That's our ship. That's a portrait of the senior officers. Those are our uniforms. And yes, we sail the stars, so to speak."

Hogan continued gazing at the pictures, clearly dumbstruck. "What year--what century--are you guys supposed to be from? Not that I believe you, of course."

"Of course." McCoy said with a nod. "We're from the 23rd century."

Hogan's eyes widened. "Who won the war, then? Or shouldn't I know? Will you have to kill me now?"

"Don't be ridiculous, man," McCoy snorted. "Of course I'm not going to kill you, but you're right, you're not supposed to know this. And to answer your other question, the Allies won. THIS war."

"Zere were more?" Tiger now asked, her eyes becoming sad. "But Earth, she survived, no? You are American, are you not?"

"There's always going to be war, and not just here. As for being American, I am, from Georgia. But not the U.S.A. as you know it. Earth now has a single worldwide government. We belong to an intergalactic organization called the United Federation of Planets. Kind of like the United Nations, only on a much grander scale."

"The United Nations exists for real? I know there was talk coming out of the Atlantic Charter…" Hogan paused, letting the information sink in.

"You'll live to see it formalized. Sooner than you think, actually. And in case you're worried about knowing this information, enjoy it while you can. Another operative will be here soon and when she leaves, your memory will go with her. I'm forbidden from giving you permanent knowledge of the future, it violates part of something we know as the Prime Directive. This was an emergency. Ordinarily, we can't really interfere with cultures that have no knowledge of space travel." McCoy shrugged. "I hope you understand."

"SPACE travel?" Hogan whistled, then pointed at Spock, who was now making noises. "Hey, what's wrong with him?"

"He's coming out of a healing trance." Seeing two blank stares, McCoy waved his hand. "Never mind, I'll let Spock tell you what it is. Now I have to see to my patient. Can I trust you two not to make a break for it? I'm going to have my hands full."

"Are you kidding? And not know who won the 1947 World Series?" Hogan attempted a smile.

McCoy tossed him the mini computer. "You should be home in time for next year's game. Why not see for yourself?"

vvvvvvvvvv

Isis appeared in Kirk and Seven's cell early that evening. She held a book in her hand which she proceeded to put on Seven's bunk. Her fingers flipped a switch concealed in the spine. "Lie down," she commanded.

Seven obeyed. In a moment, he was asleep, his soft breathing punctuated with the occasional snore.

"What are you doing?" Kirk demanded. A nap, now?

Seven got up and joined them. Only Seven was still asleep on his bunk. "It's a holographic projection," he explained to Kirk. "I hear Starfleet's perfecting the model Archer brought back."

"Here." Isis handed Seven another silvery pen. "According to my monitors, the operatives have been here today." She indicated a map on her handheld computer. "You should have eight hours. Is that enough time?"

"It should be." Seven moved towards the bars and shone his pen. They widened as though pushed by an unseen force and he slipped through effortlessly. "Be seeing you two."

"Lie down," Isis now told Kirk.

"You're a fast worker," he said with a gleam in his eyes.

"Captain Kirk, please. I am needed elsewhere but before I go, I must program the computer for your image. You will accompany Mr. Seven tomorrow evening. There is much you both must still do." She indicated his bunk. "Please?"

"All right, all right," Kirk grumbled. She probably tastes like cat food, anyway, he thought to himself.

Isis made a few adjustments to the program and then showed Kirk his sleeping image. "Now I must be off, but I'll be back tomorrow if I can. Good luck." She paused, a smirk on her lips. "And I didn't say never, just not now. Oh, and no, I don't taste like cat food."

Before Kirk could even think of responding, she vanished into a shimmer of light.

vvvvvvvv

"Hey!"the MP said to Gary Seven. "What in the Sam Hill are you doing out of your cell?"

"Now, now," Seven replied, shining his penlight at the man. "No need to get all excited. You want to go read your new issue of _**Police Gazette**_, don't you, son?"

"Yeah. That's a good idea," the guard responded benignly. He gave Seven a leer. "There's a girl from Paris in this month's copy."

"And then maybe a nap."

"Yeah. A nap."

vvvvvvvv

Isis set herself down just inside the main gate of Stalag 13 and stretched, hating this method of travel but accepting it nonetheless. It was dark and moonless, the camp slumbering peacefully as though there wasn't anything like a war going on. She scampered across the yard, her tail twitching.

"Hallo, Katze!" A portly man leaned down and scooped her up before she could make her escape. Isis knew this must be Schultz, the guard befriended by the cell, so she went along.

"I know we cannot have pets here but perhaps I could convince Herr Kommandant that we need to keep all those horrible Ratten out of his food larder. What a good thing I was about to get myself a little midnight snack. You can go right to work." Schultz unlocked the pantry door with one hand. The other held Isis in a firm grip. She purred, for his sake, thinking about the vacation her superiors had promised her. It would be Risa, she decided. And they'd pay. Dearly.

"Perhaps some cream, my little one? My, what a lovely collar you wear! It almost seems to be made of dia-"

Isis blinked twice at the man, who fumbled himself into a chair, muttering how tired he suddenly had become. Satisfied he was asleep, she transformed into her humanoid shape and shone her penlight over Schultz. Then she morphed into a cat once more and slunk out the door into the night.

vvvvvvv

Carter was unable to sleep. He wondered, from a professional standpoint, what news the mysterious visitors had brought. It must be hot, he thought, or else Hogan would have been back in his office by now. He'd pump the colonel for information in the morning.

"Well hi there," he said as a black cat padded onto his bunk. "Where'd you come from, kitty?"

"Shut UP, Carter," came a muffled voice from above him.

Carter opened his mouth to speak but only managed to yawn. He drifted back to sleep, unaware of the sudden flash of bluish light that bathed the barracks a moment later. Isis made her feline way into the tunnel, obliterating all traces of dried green blood on the ground as she walked over them. She padded up to where Kinch sat, still reading, and leaped onto his desk with a soft chirp.

"Hey puss," the man responded, scratching her behind the ears. "You're just as black as me, though I don't have that fancy hardware you're sporting. Guess you're a lady cat, eh? You know, you're not supposed to be in the camp at all. Klink'll have a fit. I'd better let you out the exit so you can get home." Kinch paused to yawn. "But not just yet, plenty of time 'till roll call. Make yourself at home, ma'am. I need a snooze."

End of Chapter 6.


	7. Chapter 7

Boldly to Go, Chapter 7

By Mistress V

_**Disclaimers as in Chapter 1. **_

Having seen McCoy bring Spock out of his postoperative trance, Hogan and Tiger wisely heeded the doctor's advice and busied themselves scrolling through page after page of historical events. They exclaimed over items of news that, for them, were yet to happen.

Spock had recovered enough to join the group. He outlined precisely what the mission was and why thwarting the Romulan agents' plan was so vital. Hogan and Tiger both had a hard enough time accepting that Spock was one race of aliens now familiar to Earth residents. To learn there were many others was almost incomprehensible.

"It's getting late," Hogan remarked, checking the time. He finished scrubbing away the last of the soot that still darkened his face. "Or should I say early? Roll call's soon. I wish we could spare someone to help get you up to the lab. But with all the activity around here, we need to keep a low profile. Something big's moving through the area tomorrow night, possibly another mobile rocket launcher. I expect Hochstetter bright and early." He turned to Tiger. "What can your people do?"

Tiger frowned, thinking. "The most direct route would be by road. The lab is likely not as heavily guarded at night so we must time your arrival carefully."

Spock reached over to check the map. A small sound escaped him as a green stain slowly began to spread across his bandaged shoulder.

"I was afraid of that," McCoy muttered. "That bullet has got to come out, and soon. We can't risk your losing so much blood."

"Can you operate here?" Hogan asked, concerned. "We have a medic that can help you. If his system can take plasma, we have a recent consignment. You could work down in the main room."

McCoy shook his head. "There's too much of a chance your operation might be discovered. You said yourself, the Gestapo have you under a scanner right now. Is there somewhere else we can go?"

"I am fine, trust me, Doctor," Spock began through gritted teeth.

"Let me be the judge of that. I'm a doctor, you're a patient." McCoy passed his scanner over the Vulcan's injury. "Damned stubborn one, too," he said under his breath.

" 'Zere is a safe house I can get you to. It 'as space for you to work and 'e can rest until you need to move," Tiger stated. "I shall take you there myself. And I will see you get to Oranienburg. We have a contact who can transport you in his vegetable truck."

"That's too risky," Hogan interrupted, his eyes on the woman. "I'll go. And they operate here."

Tiger adamantly shook her head. "You cannot, Colonel 'ogan. Your presence would be missed whereas mine is not required officially anywhere, except to 'elp the cause. And the fewer people that know means less chances for exposing our network. I am sure the doctor can do 'is job at our facility."

"No." Hogan's tone was firm. He got up and paced back and forth grumbling, trying to think out loud. Suddenly he stopped and pointed at the door. "How the hell did that get in here?" he asked.

A black cat wandered over, its tail raised. Hogan watched as the animal did a purring figure of eight around his feet, then stepped away to an open space.

"About time," McCoy said, relieved.

Isis' transformation to her humanoid self left the reluctant observers in temporary shell-shock. She moved over to Spock and assessed his injuries. "Sorry I'm late, I was delayed. What is the plan?" she asked McCoy.

"WHAT are YOU?" Hogan demanded, his voice almost a squeak. The man's eyes were out on stalks.

Isis regarded them with her feline-esque orbs. "I'm sorry, Colonel Hogan, Tiger, for making such a dramatic entrance. But time is of the essence, as you know. My name is Isis. I am working with these men in furtherance of their mission."

"You are from--'ze future also?" Tiger asked, fascinated with the woman.

"Yes, from another race of beings far from here. My presence is one of a…helpful observer. Like many of the Nazi officers that seem to be furthering your cause."

Hogan and Tiger exchanged glances. How much had been written about their operations?

"She's offered to take us to a safe house," McCoy said, indicating Tiger. "The sooner we get there, the better. I can help Spock along, but we need to get cracking."

"I shall walk," Spock insisted stubbornly.

"It won't be necessary." Isis nodded at Tiger. "Just tell me where we need to go. I'll get us there. But first, I need to take care of something. Colonel Hogan, I'm afraid you need to take a little nap. Don't worry, you'll be fine. But when you wake up, you won't recall anything about our being here. I'm sorry, it is something we must do."

"Not even the World Series?" Hogan said a little sadly.

"No, not even that. You would be surprised how easy it is to disrupt the timeline. Please sit down, Colonel." Isis pointed at the door. "The rest of you, get out there. I won't be a moment."

Hogan watched as she drew out a silvery penlight and prepared the object. He reached out a hand and caught her arm. "Are you really a female?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"I am, even in my own species. And if you are trying to find out if I have ever been…kissed, the answer is yes." Isis rolled her eyes. They always tried something.

"By an American airman?" Hogan moved closer. "A decorated pilot at that?"

"My, we're being persistent," Isis admonshed. "Now please, may I get on with my work?"

Hogan seized the woman and gave her a thorough example of a WW2-era smacker. When he drew back, his eyes were amused. "Are you sure I can't go with you?" he teased.

Isis returned the kiss with equal ardor, then slapped his posterior playfully. "I'm sure, Colonel, though you have given me food for thought. Be safe. You will be home soon, I can assure you."

Hogan saw the shimmer of blue light and felt a persistent drowsiness come over him. He closed his eyes and drifted away. The woman swiftly got rid of any evidence of the prior night's events…or visitors.

"Is 'e all right?" Tiger asked when Isis re-joined them.

"Asleep. Like him," she replied, indicating Kinch who was comatose in his book. "Now where are we going? Show me on your map."

Tiger pointed out the location and Isis made some calculations. Then she clicked another button on her pen and the group vanished into a puff of smoke.

vvvvvvvvvv

"Colonel Hogan?"

"Zxprwxz!" Hogan let out a snore and pulled away from the distraction.

"Sir!" A hand stubbornly shook at him. "Colonel Hogan, sir, you need to wake up."

Hogan reluctantly opened his eyes, yawning. "What is it?" he asked.

"Almost roll call, sir. You and I must have fallen asleep down here last night, it was quiet enough," Kinch replied. "But you need to change out of your work clothes, sir."

"Yeah, I'd better. Good thing I did get some sleep. I have a feeling tonight's going to be really busy."

"You said it. I'll bet we're gonna have plenty of visitors today to keep us on our toes, too," Kinch said, shaking his head.

The two men climbed up the ladder into the barracks. "All right, you lot, rise and shine!" Hogan barked, seeing his slumbering crew. "That's an ORDER!"

End of Chapter 7.


	8. Chapter 8

Boldly to Go, Chapter 8

By Mistress V

_**Disclaimers as in Chapter 1. Although it would be tempting to make reference to how much Tiger might resemble T'Pring in this story, those were two separate characters on two different television shows played by the same wonderful actress, Arlene Martel (who played many diverse roles in her time). So I'm not going there, it wouldn't do credit to Ms. Martel's excellent talents.**_

Seven slipped through the widened bars, then checked as they slid back into place once more.

"How'd it go?" Kirk asked, watching him switch off the holographic version of himself asleep.

"They're amateurs at this sort of espionage," Seven replied, hiding the book beneath his pillow. "It's obvious they did their homework, but they haven't figured out how to plant the information in a realistic way. I found some handwritten notes, supposed to be from one of the scientists, sitting on a desk."

"What's so unusual about that?"

"They didn't use pencil or fountain pen, it was a BIC, I think. Remember, ball point pens weren't widely in use before the end of the war, at least not in the U.S. The ink stuck out like a sore thumb. That, and the fact the notebook used didn't look like any notebook I'd ever seen."

"What did you do?" Kirk wondered how so sophisticated a race as the Romulans could also be so careless. He'd seen it time and time again and knew the devil was still in the details.

"I vaporized the notebook. It's obvious this pair has access to the base so I'll need data from Isis to find out what they're doing. My guess is security of some kind--clearance to the complex late at night, though the researchers often keep some pretty weird hours as well." Seven shrugged. "We'll just have to see. I'm sure they know it's gone by now and equally as sure they'll try again, thinking it was just thrown away. But we likely won't get another chance after tonight."

"I suppose Isis will be back this evening," Kirk said. "I hope she can tell us what's going on across the Atlantic. It's kind of odd not being in contact with my officers on a mission."

vvvvvvvvvvvv

Spock had already been brought out of his healing trance some time before but continued to rest at McCoy's insistence. The surgery had been successful and now all he needed to do was regain his strength. He gazed out the window at the fallow pastures that surrounded the old farmhouse where they were sequestered. The soil of Terra looked just so, well, dirty compared to the vivid red of his homeworld. It would be good to get back to the present, he thought to himself. Despite his fascination with Terran history, it wasn't always logical to experience it firsthand. This was one of those situations.

" "ello, Monsieur Spock. Are you feeling better?" Tiger appeared soundlessly at his side, her expression concerned.

"I am, thank you. Where are the others?"

"Your friend and that _femme extrordinaire _are going over plans in the next room. We will be leaving in a few hours, everything has been arranged." She handed him a glass of orange liquid. "Would you like something to drink? "

Spock accepted the beverage and took a hesitant sip. The flavor surprised him. "This is actually quite refreshing," he remarked. "And it will sustain my energy as well. What is it?'

"A German invention, a soft drink called Fanta. Have you such things in your time?"

"We do, and many other fascinating beverages, from places you cannot even imagine," Spock told her. "Is something troubling you?" he asked further, sensing the young woman's distress.

"I am sorry." Tiger looked down at the wooden floor, worrying at her lip. Then she met Spock's gaze after a minute. "I know I will not recall anything of what happens these days, but I wish to know now. Will my Paris, my home, the soul of all French people everywhere, survive this 'orror? Les Boche have tried to break us but we are a tough race. So is our capital. Please tell me what you know."

"Paris is one of my parent's favorite cities," Spock replied. "It is a vital and aesthetically pleasing metropolis in my time. And it is home to the offices of our Federation's President. Through the centuries, it has been an important center for many endeavors. Yes, your city, and your people, will survive. "

Tiger's eyes filled with tears. "Merci, " she said simply. "I 'ad to know."

"You are welcome," Spock told her. "You are a most courageous and strong young woman. Thank you for helping us."

"Thank you all for deciding that we were worth saving," Tiger said as she headed out the door. "Vive la France!"

vvvvvvvv

"Kind of reminds you of Ekos, doesn't it Spock?" McCoy asked as he adjusted his Nazi uniform. "Oh, that's right, you probably don't want to remember that little escapade."

"Nonsense, Doctor. Federation teams now tell us that both planets are beginning a re-building phase and hope to join the U.F.P. at a later date. So our work there was not in vain." Spock buckled his holster, carefully concealing some extra weapons next to his German-made pistol.

"Herr Weiss has arrived," Tiger said as she joined the group. " 'E will put you into the back of his truck. I am sorry your ride could not be more comfortable, but at least it is late turnips and not pigs." Her eyes twinkled. "We 'ave to put up with some difficult situations at times. But all for 'ze cause."

Spock and McCoy headed downstairs to be hidden. Isis turned to Tiger. "Your help has been invaluable," she told the young woman. "But it is far too dangerous for you to accompany us all the way to the facility. You are needed here, alive and well."

"What are you saying?" Tiger's expression was confused. " 'ow will you get there if I cannot go? Herr Thomas knows me, not you. It is not possible."

Isis morphed into a perfect double of the woman standing next to her. "It is," she said with a smile. "Now tell me everything I need to know, one last time."

vvvvvvvvvv

Tiger woke up awhile later. It was twilight and the wireless on the desk where she'd dozed off was sending out a signal.

"Goldilocks to She-Cat, come in She-Cat. Do you read, over?"

"This is She-Cat, I read you, over."

"Papa Bear says he needs you at the den. Two crews that bailed out last night have been brought in and need to be moved out now, before the fireworks begin. Can you assist?"

"Roger, tell Papa Bear I shall be there directly, with 'elp."

vvvvvvvvvvv

Isis/Tiger waved discretely as the vegetable truck sped away into the night, back towards Berlin and eventually Hammelburg. Spock and McCoy looked warily around them. They were within walking distance of the Augersellschaft plant and the late guard was about to change. A column of soldiers was making its slow way towards a checkpoint. The pair joined them.

The officer in charge must have had other things on his mind or else the underground's forgery chief really was quite extraordinary. Both would-be guards were admitted without a question and disappeared into the plant.

Spock pulled out his handheld database and swiftly determined the fastest route to the lab where the Romulan pair would logically be working. The building was enormous but, thankfully, deserted and after a few minutes, they approached a guarded door. The two soldiers demanded to know their business but swiftly fell under the influence of the modified penlight Spock carried.

McCoy stepped over the sleeping men and pushed the heavy door open. The lab was dark except for several greenish lighting elements that were definitely non-Terran in origin. In the anteroom, a man was slumped over a desk next to one of them. Spock recognized him as Subcommander Tal, from the vessel he and Kirk had been on. He was obviously the second operative. A pen was still clutched tightly in his hand. The green light made him look even paler.

"He's about gone," McCoy whispered, running his scanner. "Massive internal injuries that never healed. I'm surprised he got this far."

"Stay with him and do what you can," Spock instructed. "I will ascertain what else is happening."

The Vulcan moved silently into the lab itself and allowed his eyes to adjust momentarily. He followed the glow of the Romulan lanterns and saw a smaller figure crouched near a corner, working busily on something. As he drew closer, he recognized it as the woman commander off the ship, though she was now dressed as a male Nazi guard. Her work was so engrossing that she still did not hear his approach--or had her hearing been affected by the surgery?

"Stop what you are doing," Spock said quietly. "And stand up slowly."

The woman hit a switch and the room was bathed in bright light. She whirled around, a disruptor pistol in her small hand. Her eyes grew wide as she recognized the man standing before her, despite his changed appearance.

"YOU!" she gasped.


	9. Chapter 9

Boldly to Go, Chapter 9

By Mistress V

_**Disclaimers as in Chapter 1. Although the "Romulan Commander" (she is listed that way in the **__**Star Trek Encyclopedia**__**) had no officially-given name in the episode, several pro-novels and other fanfic have christened her as "Charvanek". So I borrow that with a nod to whomever was the first to pen it. Though she has been called by others…and as I said, even the actress herself insists the character had no name. I know, I asked her! (I STILL wonder what she whispered into Spock's ear, then!). And we DON'T know what happened after Spock escorted her to the cabin prepared for the journey, do we?**_

"Put down your weapon and move away from there," Spock repeated.

The woman laughed as she set her disruptor to the kill setting. "What manner of deception is this? Spock of Vulcan masquerading as a Terran? You are a disgrace to your heritage."

"Charvanek," Spock said evenly, "put the weapon down and move away. I shall not ask you again."

"And what would you do? Vulcans are pacifists, they abhor the taking of any life. That is what separates the Romulan race from those insipid weaklings. You shall not keep me from my mission, you half-confused excuse for a warrior."

Spock removed a slide rule from his pocket and adjusted it, then aimed the item at the woman.

"Surely you think me a fool!" Her derisive laughter echoed through the lab. "Would you equate me to death?"

A second later, a bright red beam shot past the woman's now Terran-shaped ear and vaporized a glass beaker on the shelf behind her with pinpoint accuracy.

"Charvanek," Spock admonished, softly now, "please. Do not force me to complete MY mission."

"NEVER!" The woman dived down to the object she had been working with, a smaller version of the cloaking device Kirk had spirited off the Romulan ship. She held her disruptor pistol to its globe, her expression emotionless. "If you make one move, I shall destroy this and all of us."

"What would that accomplish?" Spock looked down at her, his weapon now held loosely in his hand. "Please, before you choose that option, would you not tell me why you are here? What is the cause for so illogical an endeavor?"

"LOGIC!" The words rolled off Charvanek's tongue like splashes of molten lava. "That word disgusts my people. And I am here to see that the Federation as you know it is never founded. We made a mistake after your wars, when Cochrane developed his warp drive ship. Our scouts were in the region but we were busy with other uprisings so we did nothing. The Empire had no idea such a long-raging consequence would develop out of our simple act of omission. If we change the course of your history, then our forces will conquer your planet's remains long before the idea of sub-space travel is even born."

"That will not necessarily occur," Spock replied. "You are taking a great gamble with your actions."

"I am a gambling woman," she laughed, her eyes gleaming. "With any luck, your own Terran ancestry will be affected and your father shall never meet your mother. You, Spock, might not be born. And that way I may continue serving my Empire as a Commander without being haunted by your lies. Terran lies, I now see, given your appearance."

"My words were not lies," Spock said honestly. "I meant them. You are an extraordinary woman, Charvanek. Please do not end things in such a disastrous way."

"They WERE lies!" Charvanek spat. "Your damned Vulcan lyrics bewitched me, tore me from the man I was promised to and almost destroyed our Empire. This is my one chance to redeem us and I shall not fail. And I say again, what are you, Spock, Terran? Or Vulcan? I say Terran. Your feelings show. But then, that is what connects your race to ours. We show our feelings while you deny them. But feelings are the same regardless. Or shall I call them by their true name…emotions?"

Spock was silent.

"Tell me," Charvanek continued. "Those hours we spent after my capture, were they lies as well? I must know, before I change the course of your history and wipe your very existence from the stars."

"Not lies. Not ever lies." Each word fell painfully from the Vulcan's mouth. "I cannot express--"

"Spock." A third voice joined the pair, McCoy's. "I'm sorry, there was nothing I could do. He's dead. We have to get out of here, and soon."

"Dead? Who is dead?" Charvanek sprang to her feet, a wail of anguish tearing from her throat. "TAAAAAAAAL" she cried, racing back into the entryway.

By the time Spock and McCoy reached them, Charvanek was cradling the subcommander's corpse. Her tears fell unchecked. "My love, my dearest love. You did not die in vain. I will see we are remembered with the highest honor accorded out people. I…love you, Tal, even unto death."

Before McCoy or Spock could react further, the woman turned her disruptor to its highest setting and aimed it at herself. "Spock, I bid you farewell...for good," she whispered, just before a bright light overtook both Romulans, vaporizing them into nothingness.

A high pitched droning sound cut through Spock and McCoy's thoughts. "The cloaking device," the Vulcan said. "We must hurry." Before they could reach the strange object, its whine became overpowering and a second later, it exploded into microcosms of brilliant white light, tearing a hole in the lab wall. Alarm claxons sounded.

"Come ON, Spock!" McCoy shouted, tugging at the Vulcan's arm. "We have to go!"

The guards were stirring sleepily. The pair leaped nimbly over them and started running down a corridor. It was clear that reinforcements were on their way, given the German shouts in the distance. A door suddenly opened.

"In here, QUICK!" a voice commanded, in English.

Spock and McCoy followed the order and found themselves in a cleaner's supply closet with a Nazi guard. They all looked at each other carefully as footsteps clattered past their hiding place.

"Are you an underground agent?" McCoy asked, once the danger was past.

"You might say so." The guard removed his helmet and smiled at the two.

"Have we met before?" Spock asked, sensing a familiarity to the man.

"No, although your predecessors and I shared many adventures. Archer and his crew knew me as Daniels. And that is still my name."

"Daniels?" Spock's voice now rose a tone. "Why are you here?"

"As a helpful observer. We have learned much from Isis' people since the days of the Cabal, but documentation is still necessary. Proper detailing is vital to our agency's work so far into your future." Daniels cocked his head. "And here comes your ride, if I am not mistaken. Thank you for your assistance, gentlemen."

Isis materialized in the small cupboard. Spock and McCoy watched, amazed, as she and Daniels exchanged the greetings of well-acquainted colleagues. Daniels then disappeared into a ray of light.

"Shall we head back to base?" the woman asked.

A moment later, the trio's presence in Terra's 20th century was obliterated forever.

End of Chapter 9.


	10. Chapter 10

Boldly to Go, Chapter 10

By Mistress V

_**Disclaimers as in Chapter 1.**_

The trio materialized in Seven's Manhattan deserted apartment without incident. A note, written in large, flowery script, proclaimed that the esteemed Miss Lincoln had taken herself off for the weekend to visit her parents in Long Island. Outside, 1968 Manhattan continued as normal.

Isis and McCoy immediately set about the procedure to restore Spock to his normal appearance. They had just finished checking in on the patient, who was in a deep sleep, when the transport chamber again filled with smoky clouds. Seven and Kirk stepped through the mist and joined their colleagues.

"How's Spock?" Kirk inquired first off.

"He's transforming back to his old self," McCoy offered. "Whatever THAT is!" he muttered under his breath. "How'd it go with you two?" he then continued.

"It was a comedy of errors," Seven replied, shaking his head. "The operatives had no idea what they were really supposed to do. The entire plan seems to have been a desperate, last-ditch attempt at fixing something that was already broken beyond repair."

"Thanks to my friend's scanner, though, we got plenty of information, and this." Kirk dropped the replacement forged notebook onto the desk. "They'll love it at Starfleet. Should keep the historians busy for a week."

"Ah, then they'll love this too." McCoy added a second tome to the pile. "Spock said it didn't make much sense--the data was correct but the way it was presented was all wrong. And we couldn't salvage the cloaking device. It self-destructed."

"What about the operatives?" Seven now asked. "Ours turned their disruptors on each other. My guess this was a suicide mission. If it failed, the agents couldn't go back, and they weren't properly trained on how to survive back then. This must have been a risky bid on the part of the Empire."

"Same with our pair. Jim, the second was Subcommander Tal. He was the injured one, died before I could help him. Then the Commander vaporized them both. I somehow don't think she wanted to go back. I can't help wondering what their fate would have been if they did."

"We'll know more after I go over that scout ship," Seven said. "I only have about thirty six hours before it starts off to Jupiter to self-destruct, so I'd better get up there. When are we due at Starfleet for de-briefing?"

"Monday afternoon." Kirk glanced at the computer array. "Could I check in with Scotty? He's probably wondering how we are by now."

"Sure." Seven moved over to the databank. "What'll you do with your free time, then? Just think, you're back in 1968 again till Monday morning and it's just Saturday afternoon. Got any unfinished business?"

"I might," Kirk replied. He surreptitiously eyed Isis, who was working on her report.

vvvvvvvvvv

"So, where would you like to go this evening?" Isis asked Kirk sometime later. This was after he'd made doubly sure Spock was recovering comfortably, though asleep and rapidly looking like the Vulcan he knew once more.

"Bones'll baby sit my friend back there, so the sky's the limit. Just kidding. I've always loved the 60's in my Terran history. Why don't we go to the Village and see what's on at Café Wha?"

Isis smiled mysteriously. "I have a better idea. Let's go, but not tonight."

"Eh?" Kirk said, wondering if he's struck gold already.

"Now Captain," Isis fairly purred with laughter, "you need to listen better. I meant how about, oh, 1964 or so? We could go to the Peppermint Lounge and see Ringo Starr dance the twist and then catch Dylan across town. I can program the transport for that."

"You can? Won't your boss get mad?"

"My boss isn't here. And besides, we won't be messing up the timeline. I do it all the time." Isis morphed herself into the very epitome of a cutting-edge mid-60's glam girl, from her bobbed hair and frosted lips down to her square-toed go-go boots. "Let's get you fixed up now," she told Kirk.

"Lead on," he grinned.

vvvvvvvvvvv

Kirk and Isis returned from their excursion very early the next morning. The captain was determined to get his money's worth, so to speak, and continued kissing the pretty young woman as they opened the apartment's door.

"Ahem."

The pair turned to see McCoy and an obviously-recovered Spock playing ordinary Terran chess.

"Don't let us interrupt," McCoy continued. Spock merely raised an eyebrow.

"I guess my coach has turned into a pumpkin, Captain," Isis said, somewhat regretfully. "We'd better start writing up our final de-briefing report."

"Yeah, that's probably best." Kirk was clearly displeased. Of all the times for that indestructible first officer of his to make an early recovery. He'd been counting on breakfast at Tavern on the Green and a nice long stroll in Central Park.

vvvvvvvvvvv

The _**Enterprise**_ left starbase orbit and began its way back towards a delayed visit to Marcos XII and the Starnes expedition. All was as it had been left. No word from the Romulan Empire, no evidence of more operatives sneaking furtively back into Earth's past in a vain attempt to change the quadrant's history. The de-briefing had gone well, with yet another appearance by the futuristic, enigmatic Daniels. After that, a shuttle had whisked the three officers towards a rendezvous with their ship. It was hard to believe that scarcely a week had passed.

Spock finished his evening meditation and now sat contemplating the vast expanse of space that glided past his window. He was troubled, had been since the mission ended. Although he looked precisely the same as he had before undergoing the genetic-altering procedure, something did not feel quite right within.

The Vulcan chided himself for allowing something so illogical as a feeling to cross his mind, but the thought persisted, nagging at him like the biting words Charvanek had thrown his way. What was he? Vulcan? Terran? Both? Neither? Another memory passed through his consciousness, one of his first day of school when his classmates had, in the stoic Vulcan way, deemed him impure, a half-breed, and thus not worthy of acknowledgement. He'd spent most of his life since that day trying to be as Vulcan as possible. When it was clear that his father's people still regarded him as…different, despite his accomplishments, escape into the anonymity of space beckoned. Starfleet provided an outlet of sorts, where Spock could explore and learn, yet still retain his heritage.

Until now. The image of his human self would not go away. And as illogically reprehensible as it now seemed, having to act as a Terran was not all that unpleasant. It was only when he witnessed the suicide of the woman he had once struggled to deny feeling for that Spock admitted to himself he was more than capable of experiencing emotions, he had embraced them.

This would not do. The mission was ending soon and once it did, Spock knew what his plans were.

He would go to Gol.

vvvvvvvvv

"General?"

General Tavel turned from his observation of the Romulan star system and saw his aide, Telok.

"Yes, what is it?" he asked, though he already knew in his heart.

"The ship…it did not return." The young man stood stiffly to attention. "I grieve for your loss, sir."

Tavel sighed and sat down. "My daughter was always the noble, impetuous one. She knew the chances for her plan's success were astronomically small. Yet she insisted that she and Tal could rectify the error she felt weighed so heavily on our people. The Senate would not have had her executed, but for my brightest one, a life away from her stars was not a life. She told me this before they left."

"I shall see to the memorial arrangements. They will receive a hero's tribute."

The general only half-heard his aide. "Very good," he replied. "You are dismissed."

Telok turned on his heel and left the room, leaving the older man to resume his pondering of the inanity of conflict.

vvvvvvvvvvv

Isis fumed at her computer terminal. It was simply NOT FAIR that her superiors put the long-awaited Risan vacation on hold. So what if there were skirmishes along the Klingon borders? Priorities were more important. She'd be breaking every rule that was written but Gary Seven was off at Starfleet HQ for yet another meeting so she was free as the proverbial bird.

She strode to the main array and checked some data. Good, she thought with a sly smile. A quiet night that had just begun. They'd confined her to Terra, but they didn't specify WHEN.

Robert Hogan was asleep in his bunk, his blankets drawn up against the chilly night. Outside, the first snow of the season was blanketing the landscape. Man and beast sought the shelter of the indoors and the camp was still.

He didn't notice the flash of blue that momentarily illuminated his office.

"Colonel Hogan?" A soft voice came wafting through the quiet.

"Mmmmmmmzzzzzxxxxthxxxxx!" Hogan let out a mighty snore and rolled over, certain he was dreaming.

"Robert?" the voice purred seductively.

Hogan opened his eyes and stared into the darkness at the end of his bunk. For some reason, everything was perfectly clear to him. A female was sitting there, her eyes flashing catlike in the glow of the distant searchlights.

"Isis!" Hogan's voice was a hoarse whisper of amazement. "What are you doing here? And why do I remember everything? You have to tell me….I have so many questions!"

The woman laid a finger over his lips, her gaze amused.

"Time enough for that. I said you had given me food for thought, Robert. Now I'm here to enjoy the whole meal."

_**THE END.**_

_**Café Wha still exists in Greenwich Village and is a popular live music club. Many beat-era musicians played there during the 60's. The Peppermint Lounge, alas, lost its license in the late 60's, but not **__**before hordes of celebrities (including Ringo Starr) danced the twist there side by side with ordinary folk.**_

_**So, who's your favorite Casanova? Kirk? or Hogan?**_


End file.
